Breathe Me to Life
by Nerdywithoutacause
Summary: A collection of drabbles originally posted on Tumblr. Prompts are welcomed.
1. Not Interested

**AU: Badboy!Sebastian, Cheerio!Kurt**

* * *

There's something in the way he moves. Something in the way his footsteps echo down the hallways that has people parting, maneuvering to let him pass. Begging him to walk past. They fear him, idolize him, love him, and hate him all at the same time in this strange mix of devotion and detestation.

Kurt doesn't. Kurt doesn't even notice that he even exists. Much. Just long enough to notice that his leather jacket is cliché and outdated. That his hair is stupid. And long enough to notice that the air of stale cigarette smoke he leaves behind him is disgusting and unattractive.

So Kurt tries to avoid his existence. He parks across the parking lot, takes a different route to and from Cheerio practice, and stays away from the back bleachers. Not that Kurt has ever met the guy. But he's repulsive and offensive from what he's heard, and Kurt just really has no desire to. Not to mention his reputation as a…promiscuous "flaming homosexual" at McKinley would do nothing but fuel gossip if they were seen anywhere within proximity of each other and that's not something Kurt needs. Especially after the Noah debacle.

Kurt's locker slams shut, a large hand resting against the cool metal as a firm body presses into his back. He's sure his heart has stopped beating, that or exploded, and his breath catches in his throat—useless either way if he doesn't have a heart anymore—when the hand along with its twin come to rest on his hips. They squeeze, pulling him back more securely against the body.

"Did you know red was my favorite color?" Lips tickle the shell of his ears as they form the words.

"I can't say that's something I go around keeping tabs on, no." The man ignores him, trailing his hands up and down Kurt's uniform clad thighs. He knows who it is, the smell of cigarette smoke in his nose tells him that much.

"And you go around in this damn _uniform_ every day, teasing me, swaying your fucking _ass_ in my face."

"I'm pretty sure my ass hasn't come anywhere _near_ your face."

The laugh rumbles deep in his chest and against Kurt's back. "Not yet," he whispers, a filthy promise in Kurt's ear that has his face threatening to flush red with embarrassment and something else he refuses to identify.

Instead he shoves away, disentangling himself from the bastard's hold and spins around. "Is this something you normally do? Press strangers into lockers and molest them?"

Hands creep up from nowhere and grasp handfuls of Kurt's ass. "Only when they have asses like this one. Though I'd hardly call it molestation." Kurt pushes him away with a scowl.

"Personal boundaries, asshole. And still not the way you treat a perfect stranger. It's called _manners_."

"Sebastian."

Kurt lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Smythe. I figured you'd be more likely to let me grope you if you knew my name."

"Charming," Kurt deadpans, working his legs quickly in the opposite direction.

"What about you, babe? What's your name?"

"Not interested," he calls back down the hallway, "Feel free to look that up in the phonebook and call me sometime."

That night Kurt gets a text from a number he doesn't recognize. _I hope you're not too disappointed, babe. Calling isn't really my thing._


	2. Promise Me

**AU: Kurt and Sebastian have been friends forever. And idea I might eventually turn into a full length fic?**

* * *

A loud "thump" echoed throughout the yard, as Kurt leapt from the chair and sent it sailing back onto the ground. His mouth fell open in a perfect "o" of surprise, the front half of his body dripping water, positively drenched from head to toe. "You asshole!" he screeched, wiping water from his face and glaring at Sebastian who merely grinned back.

"I warned you it would happen if you didn't put that magazine down and swim with me."

Kurt waved his sopping wet, ruined _Vogue_ at his—now ex—best friend. "Sebastian Alexander Smythe, you've _ruined_ my _Vogue_, this was my new one!"

The perpetrator shrugged. "I'll buy you another one. Come swim with me, Kurt."

"And expose myself to those UV rays?" he scoffed, "I think not."

"Don't be a drama queen, come on."

"You might not care about your skin, but I do. And skin cancer is highly unattractive. Now, if you don't mind I'm going to go inside and help your mom cook because at least I know that _she _won't set out to sabotage me." Kurt tossed the lump of wet paper onto the glass table and sauntered off towards the Smythe home which, thankfully, wasn't too far away from where the pool and pool house were located in the back of the estate.

"Kurt," Sebastian called in warning, "If I have to come get you, I'm throwing you in. Clothes and all."

Kurt's movements halted all at once. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but I really, really would."

There's a lengthy pause in which Sebastian was sure he won, but then, "You'd have to catch me for that, now wouldn't you?" Like a light, Kurt was off, sprinting through the garden as fast as his legs could carry him—which was actually a pretty impressive speed. But soon Kurt heard the telltale thump of feet against cobblestone, years of soccer and lacrosse working in Sebastian's favor. _Shit. _ He pushed his legs harder, feeling his muscles strain with the effort. It was too late.

Arms swooped in and lifted him, kicking and screaming in the air until he was tossed like a sack of potatoes over a naked shoulder. "Sebastian Smythe, don't you _dare_!" he screeched, struggling in the strong grip. The world bounced with every step taken back towards the pool, the green disappearing suddenly and grey cement taking its place. "'Bastian, please," he panics. "this shirt is a McQueen!"

Sebastian's back vibrated with his laughter. "Then you better take it off fast." As much as he wanted to believe it wasn't true, Kurt knew he'd be going into that water, with or without his two hundred dollar shirt, so he quietly and carefully peeled the already wet fabric off of himself and tossed it into a nearby chair. "Hold your breath," was all the warning he received before he was sent sailing into the air and crashing into the cold, clear water below. Kurt kicked off from the bottom, resurfacing a moment later with his hair plastered to his forehead and a scowl on his face

"I _hate_ you." Attempting to drown out Sebastian's familiar laughter, he waded through the deeper end of the pool until his feet could once again touch as pulled himself up over the side. "Throw me a towel, asswipe," Kurt demanded, sitting with his feet dangling in the water.

Sebastian was still laughing, but at least he grabbed the biggest towel, Kurt's favorite, and brought it to him. He plopped down, ruffling the wet mop of brown hair on Kurt's head. "You know it was funny." Not amused one bit, Kurt swatted his hand away and stood to wrap the towel around himself. "What's that?" Caught off guard by the sudden seriousness coloring his voice, Kurt followed Sebastian's gaze to a large, dark, purplish bruise on his upper arm.

"Nothing, I…tripped."

His friend frowned, eyebrows furrowing in the middle. "Into _what_, a _car_?"

"A locker, actually," Kurt replied stiffly.

Sebastian's face melted into one of acute understanding. "Kurt, if this ever happens again, I need you to tell me. Okay? Promise me." He nodded, saying back those words. It was the first time he ever truly lied to Sebastian. It definitely wasn't the last.


	3. Miss Me?

**Smutty Badboy!Sebastian, Cheerio!Kurt. Takes place shortly after the last one.  
**

* * *

Kurt walks a little faster to his car, glancing behind him every so often. He's determined to make it to his car without a…_disruption_. That's what he's taken to calling them anyway, his run-ins—more like collisions—with Sebastian Smythe.. He's lucky if he can make it a whole day without an innuendo laced comment or unexpected grope from the brute. _Okay, not much longer now._ Kurt can see his Navigator taunting him at the far ends of the nearly empty parking lot, and he wishes he had made it to school a little earlier and gotten a closer parking spot. But the coast looks pretty clear. So, so close. It's late anyway, he tells himself. Cheerios practice kept him longer than normal and there's no reason for Sebastian to even still be around. _Like that's ever stopped him before._

Much to his utter amazement, Kurt does actually make it to his car completely unscathed. He sighs a heavy breath of relief. Things are going his way. Until he walks around to the driver's side of the car, that is. Propped against the door with a cigarette wedged between his lips, is none other than the asshole himself. There's a small pile of cigarette butts littering the ground at his feet and his leather jacket rests draped over Kurt's side view mirror causing his lips to turn down in a scowl.

"Hey babe, miss me?" The cancer stick rolls with his words in a way that should _not _be attractive but totally is and has Kurt's frown intensifying.

"Do you have a mental imbalance? _No_, I did not _miss you_. Go away and take that ratty thing with you," Kurt demands gesturing at the cloth currently defiling his baby.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and flicks ash from the end of his cigarette. "Stop being so uptight all the time, Princess. You know, a good fuck will fix that right up. I'm a pretty selfless guy, I could lend a hand. Or a dick. Whichever. "

"You're vile." Kurt pushes past him, jabbing his key into the door and counting the seconds it takes him to get it open. The jacket sways on his mirror and with a malicious sneer he reaches out to toss it across the parking lot. A hand latches around his wrist, halting the movement an inch before making contact. Kurt glares and wrenches away only to find a secure grip on his wrist and another winding its way around his waist. Somewhere along the way Sebastian's cigarette had been tossed, Kurt hadn't even noticed. "Get your hands off of me, Smythe."

A smirk that can only be described as predatory inches across Sebastian's unfortunately attractive face as he steps into him, pressing Kurt's back into hard ridge of the seat. "No. I kind of like where I have my hands right now, actually." He moves in closer, crowding Kurt's space and breathing his air. "So…_feisty_." Hot breath ghosts over Kurt's skin as Sebastian growls the words in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine that raises little hairs all over his body. A coil of heat flashes hotly inside him, tugging low in his belly in a way he tries not to think about, but fails when a leg lodges itself between his thighs.

Kurt takes a shaky breath and hopes to fucking Gaga that his voice doesn't waver. "Sebastian, if you don't get the fuck away from me right now I'm to sterilize you with my knee." He hears the crack in his voice, knows that Sebastian hears it too when he leans to suck teasingly at Kurt's earlobe.

"Why don't you say that like you mean it, babe?" he murmurs. But Kurt doesn't really get a chance to respond because Sebastian grinds his thigh up into Kurt's half hard cock, pressing his own into his hip.

"_Fuck!_" A wail he doesn't even recognize as his own rips from his throat, and his head bangs back against the seat. Sebastian hums approvingly against his neck, sucking kisses beneath his jaw.

"That's right, scream for me, baby." Sebastian's yanks Kurt forwards, adjusting their bodies so that their denim covered cocks press together, and thrusts against him and _fuck_. A broken moan falls from his lips before their suddenly covered by another pair crashing roughly into them. Hard and demanding, Sebastian works Kurt's lips apart, his tongue dipping in to map out the entirety of his mouth and striking and battling against Kurt's for the dominance that he won't win easily. Large hands grab at his ass, lifting him up and rutting against him as Kurt's legs wind tightly around Sebastian's trim waist to bring him closer. So close, he wants to be so close.

Their mouths disconnect with Kurt's cry and Sebastian takes the opportunity to flip them around and pull them up into the driver's seat with the Cheerio in his lap. Their heads smash together painfully while Sebastian tries to maneuver the seat back, but Kurt doesn't even care anymore, he barely feels it at all because sharp teeth bite into his bottom lip and a dick is grinding into his, and it's the best thing he's ever felt in his life. All he can think is _more, more, more._ _Fuck, please, more_. He vocalizes the last part receiving a throaty groan from Sebastian in return and _shit_ if that isn't the hottest thing he's ever heard. "Fuck, Kurt, I want you so bad," Sebastian groans as he rolls their hips together at a faster tempo, meeting Kurt thrust for thrust. The sound of his name from those lips nearly does him in, but he wants this to last.

Kurt hands latch onto the tail of Sebastian's shirt, jerking it up to his arm pits, and sucks a pert, pink nipple into his mouth. The answering moan vibrates up Sebastian's torso sending sharp daggers of heat to his aching dick that jerks up against the steady friction. "Scream for me, baby," Kurt mocks.

"Shut the fuck up, Princess." He sucks harder at the nipple and pinches roughly at the other, enjoying the responding wail before he pulls off and seeks Sebastian's lips again. They meet half way in a clash of teeth and tongues and swears. Kurt twines his fingers in Sebastian's hair, tugging him forwards like he can't seem to be close enough. Hands map out each other's bodies, needing to feel skin on skin. Kurt's breath catches in his throat as fingers graze the smooth planes of his stomach, he can feel his muscles contracting to the touch and god he's so close. Sebastian's hands sneak under the waistband of Kurt's uniform pants and the pair of tight black briefs to grab hold of his bare ass and grind their cocks together with a renewed fervor.

"Shit I—shit! Sebastian, I'm so close, I'm so close."

"Wait for me," he growls, and then there's a finger pressing against the rim of his asshole. He sucks in a breath. He doesn't think he can hold back anymore, the finger is fucking into him now, dry and harsh and without rhythm, but he pushes back against it, crying out when it strokes over his prostate. "God, Kurt, you're so hot for it."

"I can't wait! Sebastian, _please_!"

"Come Kurt, come for me. I want to watch you." Sebastian strokes over that bundle of nerves once more and with a last roll of his hips, Kurt's finished, his back arching in a perfect semicircle, and come splattering the inside of his uniform. Fuck that's going to stain but he can't seem to make himself care. His body slumps forward again with his face planting firmly into the crook of Sebastian's neck "You're so fucking gorgeous," Sebastian groans. He palms himself once, twice, and comes in his jeans for the first time since middle school.

They lie there boneless in their post-orgasm haze, breathing synchronized, deep and heavy in each other's ears. Kurt is the first one to speak, shifting uncomfortably when the come starts to dry and glue his briefs to his skin. "I just came in my uniform. I just came in my uniform and I don't even care."

"I told you a good fuck would loosen you up," Sebastian teases.

"I hate you."

"The semen in your pants would suggest otherwise."

"Shut up."


	4. A Chance He's Willing to Take

**Prompt from Kurtbastian week: Firsts. (The first time they hold hands)**

* * *

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Come on Kurt, live a little." His eyes dart over the chalk board menu, lighting up when they come to the purple writing describing the plethora of muffin choices.

"But I always get a nonfat mocha. It's my favorite," Kurt protests, pulling a five out of his wallet.

"That is exactly my point. How do you know you don't like something else if you never try?" He passes his card to the barista, batting away the bill in Kurt's hand. "I'll have a Vanilla Latte with a shot of caramel and a…" He turns suddenly to look at him, and Kurt fidgets under Sebastian's scrutinizing eye. "Cinnamon Dolce Latte with a blueberry muffin and a vanilla bean scone."

The barista bats her eyelashes prettily, much to Kurt's amusement. "Name?"

"Sebastian." He slips a ten into the tip jar with a wink and leads the way to an empty table in the front of a large window.

"You are such a tease," Kurt says, shaking his head in amusement and disbelief.

"Maybe, but she's going to feel like the hottest thing in New York for the rest of the day. I'm giving back to the community," he smirks.

"That is…oddly sweet of you, totally conceited, but sweet."

"Shut up, Princess," Sebastian grumbles, "I am not _sweet_."

A tiny-tooth grin spreads over Kurt's face as he reaches over the table to pinch a chunk of Sebastian's sun-bronzed skin. "Oh yes, you are. You're just a big softy," he coos.

"I hate you." The pretty barista comes over, smiling and bearing coffee, just as Kurt makes to deliver a particularly debilitating jab at Sebastian's ego. He thinks better of it in favor of the caffeine he's craving so desperately. "Thanks, babe." She flushes crimson, mumbling a quick "you're welcome" before scampering off.

"You're terrible," Kurt says, though a smile curves the corners of his lips. "Now, what poisonous concoction have you ordered me?"

"Don't be a drama queen. You needed to spread your wings a little." The bag crinkles as he fishes through it and pulls out the scone. "This is yours; it works well with the cinnamon. Which you'll love if you pull your head out of your ass and try it, you prude."

"Why do _you_ get to decide my drink?" He sulks, but takes the offered pastry and sniffs at the drink. It smells harmless enough, nice even. Fine. With a weary glance across the table, Kurt takes a hearty mouthful and moans. It's hot, he forgot that part, and scalds his taste buds but beyond that it's pretty freaking delicious. He swallows quickly, to get the heat off of his tongue and nibbles at the scone to sooth it. Sebastian is right. Again. Kurt hates him a little.

The smirking man across from him raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"Shut up." And he does, but he holds that annoying, triumphant smirk on his face, letting it become more pronounced with every sip Kurt takes. "Okay! Fine, you were right! Happy?"

Sebastian drops back into his chair, grinning and relaxed. "Overwhelmingly."

With his patented eye roll, Kurt mocks the position. God, his coffee is just really fucking good. "Well, my furry friend, you've gotten me to drink different coffee. Congratulations, now what?

"Now," Sebastian drawls, "I'm going to take you to a gay bar, Princess."

"It's three in the afternoon," Kurt deadpans.

"It'll take you an eternity to get dressed and it takes two hours to get there." With that, he drains the rest of his cup and stands, watching Kurt expectantly.

"Maybe I don't feel like going to some sleazy club to drink Appletinis and listening to bad music while you get blowjobs in the bathroom." Nevertheless, Kurt finishes his scone and stands, taking his half full coffee with him to the door.

"Then it's a good thing you won't be sitting at the bar drinking Appletinis then, huh?"

"I…won't?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes, latching onto Kurt's hand to tug him along. "No. Kurt Hummel, I'm getting you laid." The blue-eyed man doesn't bother to answer because a tendril of heat spirals up his arm, vibrating throughout his body. His skin tingles with the unfamiliarity of the warm touch, firm and strong. He feels a little lightheaded when callused fingers entwine with his. Kurt realizes with a start that this is the first time Sebastian has ever held his hand. He almost hopes he never does it again; he doesn't think his body can handle it. But then again, he thinks, maybe that's a chance he's willing to take.


	5. Maybe

**Kurtbastian week prompt:Firsts (First time Sebastian holds Kurt)**

* * *

Everything is blurred colors and indistinguishable shapes, unrecognizable were it not for the fact that he knows this space so well. Unshed tears block his view of the world around him, not that there's anything he really wants to see all that badly at this very moment, though there are quite a few things he wishes he could un-see. Kurt blinks around the pressure welling in his eyes, feeling fat tears race down his cheek, but he doesn't have the energy or desire to wipe them away or fight them back, so he lets them fall. He's fought so hard his whole life. He doesn't want to fight anymore. For once in his life, he's going to sit and take what life hands him, because, really? He's tired. Exhausted. Warn out. And beaten. And now he's going to rest.

Crying isn't hard though; crying doesn't make the hurt any worse. Kurt curls up in his bed; arms wrapped snuggly around a pillow, and stops fighting. Sobs rip from his throat freely, filling the empty room with his pain in a way he's never allowed them to before. His chest aches but Kurt thinks maybe the crying helps because he doesn't feel likes he's going to burst anymore.

The rhythmic pulsing against his desk goes unnoticed, drowned out by his wails. As does the faint chorus of Lady Gaga's latest single, followed by the sound of knuckles on wood ten minutes later. He doesn't hear the rattling of a key in the door or the creak of it when it opens. He doesn't pick up on the pitter-patter of feet, softened by the carpet, or body next to him. The hand on his shoulder, however, he _does_ notice. Kurt jumps a foot off the bed with a half-scream. "H-how did you get in?" At this point, pretending he isn't crying is really quite pointless.

Sebastian shrugs, "Key. Under the fire extinguisher." Kurt nods and wipes a sleeve over his cheeks, his breath coming in heaves that would normally be more embarrassing. "Scoot over." He obliges, feeling a strange sense of security seep over him at the sinking of the mattress under Sebastian's weight. Odd how time changes so much, how just a year ago the same weight would have sent his heart in a frenzy for a completely different reason and safe would have been the last thing he felt. "Come here," Sebastian mumbles. Kurt lets himself be tugged across the bed and swept into familiar—but in a way, completely unfamiliar because he's never actually been wrapped in them before—arms. His face finds comfort in the crook of Sebastian's neck. It's warm and intimate, smelling of coffee and the White Cristal cologne he spends far too much money on. Tears pool in his eyes and fall from his cheeks, collecting on Sebastian's skin; somehow the comfort and safety he feels only encourages them, but Sebastian either doesn't mind or doesn't notice because he doesn't say anything about it.

"Liam he—" Kurt's voice wavers and he bites back another sob. "I walked in on…he—" Sebastian shushes him, running nimble fingers through his hair.

"I know. You don't have to say anything." In his fog, he can make out gentle pressure on the top of his head—a kiss?—and the graze of a nose over this hair.

"How?" Kurt asks, though truly, he isn't actually so surprised. Somehow Sebastian always knows.

"I tried to get in touch with you for a while. You didn't answer and I got worried. That phone is fucking _glued_ to you hand," he teases lamely, "Anyway, I called Liam and he told me you walked in on him and that diseased ginger from his job. After I threatened him, I came over. I figured maybe you didn't want to be alone." Sebastian finishes, his voice laced with uncertainty at the last.

Kurt pulls away long enough to look the man below him directly in the eyes and say, "Thank you." He holds the gaze for longer than necessary, wanting Sebastian to understand. He brushes his lips over the curve of his cheek bone, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath his lips, then tucks his face back into Sebastian's neck sighing a little blissfully when the arms around him tighten.

Maybe, he thinks, just maybe. He'll be okay.

* * *

**XxBlackShadowMagicxX, darling, I'm working on your request it's just coming along a little slower and longer that I was expecting. lol**


	6. Deal with the Devil

**AU: Detective!Kurt, Inmate!Sebastian**

* * *

The man behind the glass is relaxed, completely as ease in the small room, with his legs propped up the table and his cuffed hands resting behind his head, a little smirk curving his lips. His eyes are staring directly at him, though Detective Hummel knows that's impossible because there's no way he can see through the glass. Sebastian Smythe, Kurt muses, the most deadly assassin to ever grace the streets of France—or any other country actually—with quite a penchant for pretty boys, if he remembers correctly. Which he does, because Kurt's the one that put him here, and it's done a number on his career. His wardrobe certainly has complained. He just never anticipated a day when he would have to call upon Smythe for help, god this is so fucked up. He's never going to agree to it, and why should he? Of all the people in the world, why would Sebastian offer up any information to the man who stuck him in a cage.

"You've got thirty minutes," Agent Wrotham states, and Kurt takes a deep breath before pushing through the door.

"Well, well, well," Sebastian drawls, "If it isn't Detective Hummel, _mon premier amour_. They said there was an old friend here to see me, not that he was going to be so pretty. I would warn my other suit."

Kurt resists the urge to grin at the familiar sarcasm. "I've seen you in worse," he replies with a lifted eyebrow.

"That you have." He met Kurt's with one of his own and a nod. "I doubt you pulled me out of that box for small talk. What can I do for you?" Even clad in a jumpsuit and handcuffs he still spoke as if the world was his. As if he really had a choice on whether he helped or not—which actually he did, but he didn't have to act so damn arrogant about it.

"I'm here to offer you a…deal of sorts."

"Ah, you've been handed the Lopez case." Sebastian straightens, sliding his legs back onto the floor with a spark of amusement and understanding in his green eyes.

"I'm not going to ask which guard you blew to find out about that."

Sebastian smirks widely showing off unfairly pearl-white teeth, and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "What makes you think _I _blew _him_?"

"For his sake, I hope you were safe. But yes, I have. I take it you have some information I want."

"I do."

Kurt sighs, "What do you want?"

"I was under the impression you would be making an offer." Sebastian sits back in his chair with an expression that clearly states 'I'm waiting.'

"Ten years off of your sentence and another five hours a week for recreation." The criminal strokes his chin contemplatively but Kurt knows it's just for show.

"You know, what I could really use right about now? Some coffee, with a shot of Courvoisier." He resists the urge to roll his eyes, but nods at the officers behind the glass.

"Now, what about the offer?"

"As _generous _as it was, I don't see how ten years off of a sixty year sentence is going to make much of a difference."

"Fifteen, then." Sebastian stands and stalks predatorily at him; Kurt holds his ground, resisting the urge to stand and back away from the dangerous glint in the assassin's eyes. Not that it would do much good if Sebastian really wanted to hurt him, as if Smythe couldn't kill him right now if he really wanted to. The hair on the back of his neck spikes up as the warm body moves behind him, like some ancient instinct that could sense a predator in close proximity, could feel the danger and wanted to bound off like a gazelle from a lion. And the smooth slink of Sebastian's movements _is _positively feline. Sebastian's lips graze the shell of his ear and he suppresses a shudder.

"Try again."

"S-seventeen." He curses himself for the break in his voice, and apparently Sebastian is closer than he thought because he feels the deep chuckle vibrate against his back. He tells himself that the sudden racing of his heart is caused by having a known murderer so close.

"You can do better than that, Kurt."

"How do you know my name?" A finger grazes the length of his neck, and now part of it _is_ fear. Kurt's chair jerks backwards and suddenly his lap is full of cold-blooded killer.

"_Bien-aimé_, I make it my business to know everything." A thumb presses into his windpipe, just enough to be felt. "Funny how your officer friends haven't busted in yet, isn't it?" The smirk on his face suggests that maybe it isn't so much of a mystery to him.

Kurt's eyes narrow accusingly. "That's why you asked for the coffee."

Sebastian shrugs, pressing more firmly into Kurt's throat as his fingers wind around the back of his neck. "Guilty."

"Killing me isn't going to get you less time in here."

Lips drift alarmingly close to his own, hot breath blowing over them when Sebastian whispers, "What makes you think I want to _kill _you?" Before Kurt even has a chance to _think_ about that possibility, those lips smash into his, hot and bruising and _delicious_. It takes a moment for Kurt to respond but he finds his mouth opening up under Sebastian's ministrations and a tongue slide against his. Kurt barely gets to taste him before the weight in his lap is suddenly gone, the tongue ripped away from his and Sebastian is on the other side of the room, restrained by two agents, as a fist gets thrusted into stomach by a third. The smirk never slips from his face.

"Are you alright, Hummel?" Wrotham asks. Kurt nods shakily, feeling guilt ebb in his gut for reasons he doesn't want to think about.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. He has information on Lopez; I'll be back next week." He looks directly at Sebastian when he says it. His eyes glint with promise and Kurt knows he understands. "And you," he turns to the third officer whose face is still scrunched into a sneer at Sebastian. "Suspended, the added physical force wasn't necessary. You aren't on the force to settle personal vendettas." More confident than he actually felt, Kurt marched to the open door. "Wrotham," he nodded, glancing over at Sebastian for a fraction of a second.

"Hummel."

"See you next you next week, _chaton_." Kurt catches the start of a wink before he turns and stalks out of the door. Next week, indeed.

* * *

**_mon premier amour_= my first love**

**_chaton_= kitten**

**_Bien-aimé_= sweetheart**


	7. Burn

**Warning: Self Harm. It's not explicit but I thought I'd let you guys know. This is for XxBlackShadowMagicxX who is marvelous! And wanted something in Sebastian's pov. I apologize to her in advance for how random this is and probably wasn't what she had in mind. But anywho.**

* * *

It started with a candle, just one: red, small, and pomegranate scented. His house had dozens of them—candles—littered around everywhere, most of them never even lit. But Sebastian had a bit of an obsession with lighting them. He liked to watch them burn, watch the small flame flicker and the wax melt into a colored puddle of transparent liquid. It was almost as if the fire somehow liberated it—made it free flowing, granted some deep seeded desire it had. Sebastian wanted to be liberated. And so he would watch the candles burn until the wick was gone and just the barest sliver of colored wax remained at the bottom of the glass. Then he would start again. A new beginning.

Sometimes burnt bits of the wick would fall off and sink to the bottom of the little melted puddle. He tried to ignore them but they were blemishes on the wax's perfectly clear complexion and they bothered him like nothing ever had before. He found silverware, tweezers, toothpicks, anything and everything to fish them back out and once they were all removed and the liquid was clear again he could relax back into his chair and watch the flame dance.

One day Sebastian couldn't find anything to remove the pieces with. He searched everywhere in his room, but it was creeping close to four in the morning on a school night and he couldn't afford to be caught by his parents—and he would have been, they were light sleepers—so he wasn't free to search elsewhere, confined to the admittedly large space between his walls. Like a generously decorated prison cell. But the pieces taunted him: dark and obvious beneath a liquid layer of pomegranate scented wax. With little more thought than how much he wanted them _out_, he dipped his index finger in, nudging against the flame before he drew it back out suddenly with a yelp. Wax dried quickly on the tip of his finger, creating a smooth shell, but Sebastian wasn't thinking about that. It had hurt—stung a little—obviously he knew it would have, because of course _fire _and hot wax. But that wasn't what scared him. It was the rush of adrenaline, the exhilaration flooding his veins and making his brain foggy. Quickly, he blew out the candle and threw himself under his covers, filing the incident away as a sleep deprivation.

Sometimes he would spray cologne inches from the flame and watch it flare up high and consume every last molecule in a split second before returning to its original size. It was an experiment at first, just to see what would happen; Sebastian's weakest link had always been his relentless curiosity. He became bored with watching it flare and recede, it was too predictable and besides, it was only one characteristic, one he had memorized; he wanted to know them all. So he ventured further. Cologne on the candle around the wick—liquid fire. Cologne on the glass container—a climbing fiery vine. Cologne dripped directly over the flame—fire shot up the stream and into the bottle itself, blazing bright and high once before it dropped back down, making a makeshift candle.

One day Sebastian ran out of surfaces to spray and in his haste, sprayed some on himself—accidently of course. He pushed down the top directly into the candle, watching fascinated as the flame chased the mist up, up, up, over the bottle and onto his hand. Fire blazed bright and dangerous and fantastic over his skin, the bottle long forgotten on the floor somewhere beneath him. For one majestic moment in his life he felt…powerful, free, beautiful. The heat over his skin didn't even register at first, the fire eating up the alcohol-based fragrance on his hand rather than his actual skin. But then that was gone and the nip and sting of it finally gathered his attention. With a mumbled curse, he quickly beat his hand against his jeans, putting it out. No real harm done he noticed, besides the reddened skin, threatening to blister. But really, he didn't care. He couldn't feel it. He was too preoccupied. Because it hadn't the pain that scared him. It was the rush of adrenaline through his body, the exhilaration flooding his veins in a way that had to be wrong on every single level, making his head foggy. He blew the candle out, sprinting out of the room and blaming it on the extreme boredom brought on by the summer.

He stayed away after that, preferring to watch the orange light flicker and sway from a distance. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it was safe. The safest option for him, he knew that. He knew it and he respected that decision. Until one brisk autumn night when he and his father "talked" about Sebastian's future. They butted heads, spitting and gnashing their teeth until Sebastian found himself slammed against the wall, the back of his head colliding with the drywall with a harsh "thump" with his father's fist planted inches from fist, making a little crater. He was sure he saw genuine stars peppered over his father's face twisted with rage, but that wasn't possible was it? The world spun around and around and with more than a little effort he stumbled into his room and slammed the door behind him, savoring the definitive bang of the wood. The walls crowded too close, the air was too thick. Like a prison. He was in a prison and the walls came closer with every second that passed. The beige walls were ugly and oppressive and we wanted to smash them, kick them, and knock them down. He fell to the floor, the sound muffled by the carpet—he wished it hadn't been—and pushed his face into the expensive material—only the best for the Smythe family, god forbid someone mistake them for average human beings. The walls pushed closer still, he was suffocating.

Out of the corner of his left eye, Sebastian caught a glimpse of a pale green candle, a new one, resting innocently on the edge of his nightstand. Suddenly the world tipped and he found himself sprawled on his back but his eyes were still glued to the candle and there was _something._ He didn't know what but something made sense and before he knew what he was doing, he was seated at the edge of his bed, candle flickering in the unlit room. He watched transfixed as it danced to the whirling of the ceiling fan. Not actually sure why he did it at all, Sebastian passed the tip of a crocheting hook—an object he normally used to fish out burnt pieces of wick—through the small fire. It blackened, radiating heat down the handle the longer he held it. He laid back on the bed, stretching out so that his tank top rode up and bared a thin strip of skin just above the waistband of his jeans. Sebastian held on the little metal rod, examining it passing the cooler base between his fingers like a game. He fumbled. The needle fell from his fingers and land on the small expanse of skin.

A flash of searing heat emitted from his abdomen, cauterizing skin that blistered then sank beneath the hot metal. His first reflex sent him tumbling down from the bed, the crocheting hook left sitting on his mattress as he gasped and panted with his hand pressed firmly to the wound. But more than the stinging pain he felt…free. Like the liquid wax. This was a place his father couldn't step foot in. This was a place where he had absolute control.

He wasn't sure what it was, just a patch of lines and swirls, some still red raw and healing while others were faded and pale against the natural tan of skin. It was beautiful though. It had been a year since his very first one, which he left unaccompanied and alone in an otherwise unmarred section of skin beneath his navel like proof. Like a resounding truth he couldn't bring himself to forget. He could name all of them, every single scar and what had taken place for him burn it into his skin. None had ever been as deep as the first, none of them that was, until Karofsky. Until he realized he had aided in pressuring a self-conscious, hurting boy into trying to take his own life. Sebastian added three new lines that night, red and bleeding and deep and painful right next to his first. Like proof. Like a resounding truth he couldn't bring himself to forget. Wouldn't let himself forget.

Kurt Hummel was really the very last person Sebastian ever expected to find on his porch. Especially because _how in the hell had he found his house_? But in true Smythe fashion, he schooled the shock and asked very neutrally—he hoped—what exactly in the name of all that was holy did he want.

With an arched eyebrow Kurt asked, "Can I come in?" Sebastian didn't voice a response, but after regarding him for a moment he moved aside and allowed Kurt to step inside before closing the door behind him.

"What do you want?

The boy fiddled with his shirttail in a—Sebastian assumed—very un-Kurt-like way, and he watched. Watched the way his supple muscles shifted under the tight, black cloth. Watched his teeth catch his plump bottom lip, watched it redden with the attention. Watched nimble fingers let go and slide down thick, tight thighs. Was this what sober arousal felt like? "To thank you, actually."

That threw him for a moment and he replied, "Excuse me?"

"For what you did for Karofsky. He told me Dalton offered him a full scholarship. One he didn't even apply for. It didn't take long to put two and two together." He shifted uncomfortably under Kurt's knowing gaze. "And then I…thought maybe guilt wasn't the only reason you did it."

"What are you talking about?" Sebastian asked stiffly. He felt transparent, open, and vulnerable and he didn't know what to think or feel. Not in front of this boy—this man who figured him out so easily.

"I was anorexic. For most of high school. Not because I felt fat or whatever, but because I felt like I was at the mercy of everyone around me. McKinley felt like a prison, like I was trapped in this small town with no way out, I... When I chose not to eat I felt like I had some control over my body, I had some say in my life and no one could take that away from me." Sebastian could feel the fresh burns searing hotter and hotter into his skin with every word Kurt spoke. Like he was being laid open and prodded on an operating table because never had anyone said something so, so close to the truth. "I'm not—I'm not asking you to show me, Sebastian, I don't even know if I could handle that. But…I'm saying that there are people that understand. There are other ways to feel and to free yourself and I'm saying that as cheesy as it is, it gets better. And more than anything else, I want you to know that if you find yourself feeling like you have no choice, like there's no way out, call me. I'll always answer."

He didn't know he was crying until he felt the hot tears slide down his cheek and collect at the corner of his mouth. He was silent unable to say anything for fear of what would come out of his mouth but Kurt seemed to understand that. The way he seemed to understand everything else and without a word he stepped forward and pulled Sebastian into a tight hug, wiping the saltwater from his skin with the smooth pad of his thumb and sliding a piece of paper in Sebastian's pocket with he assumed had a phone number scribbled on it.

For the first time in almost a decade, Sebastian felt like he could breathe without the fire.

* * *

** So yeah. I was working on something else and lit this candle then In My Veins came on and suddenly this happened... **


	8. Stay With Me

**Kurtbastian week prompt: Texts (Kurt needs help, Sebastian is the only one he can turn to.)**

* * *

(2:56) I need a really big favor.

(2:57) Are you awake?

(2:59) Please tell me you're awake.

(3:01) SEBASTIAN

**(3:01) Shit, yes. I'm awake. What favor can you possibly need at three in the morning?**

(3:02) I need you to pick me up.

**(3:04) At three in the morning.**

(3:04) I was at a party, please.

**(3:05) You can't get one of your *friends* to pick you up?**

(3:05) They'll ask questions…I'll owe you. Please.

**(3:09) God damn it. Fine! **

**(3:09) Where is this party?**

**(3:09) And why don't you want them asking you questions?**

(3:10) NYU campus. The residency hall on 12th street.

(3:10) The point was to *not* have to answer questions.

**(3:12) I'll be there in fort-five.**

**(3:13) Tough shit. You woke me up at the middle of the night to pick you up. I believe you *owe* me a story.**

(3:17) Something… happened at the party. And I don't want to have to talk about it. That's why no friends asking questions.

**(3:17) Where are you right now?**

(3:18) Um. Hiding in the bathroom. Why?

**(3:18) This something that happened, was it a guy?**

**(3:25) Kurt.**

(3:27) A few.

**(3:27) Are they looking for you? Is that why you're hiding in the bathroom?**

**(3:33) Hummel, if you don't fucking answer me right now.**

(3:36) They were. I'm not taking the chance and checking.

**(3:37) Are you hurt?**

**(3:37) In any way, are you hurt at all?**

(3:38) No. No, I'm fine. I just got scared.

**(3:39) Good. Okay. Good. Just stay in there, okay? You can tell me the room number and I'll come in and get you.**

(3:40) 423, second building on the left.

(3:41)Can I ask you for another favor?

**(3:41) ?**

(3:42) Will you stay with me until you get here?

**(3:43) Kurt Hummel, are you asking me to continue violating traffic laws?**

(3:44) That was stupid, I'm sorry.

**(3:45) So, what are you wearing? ;)**

(3:46) Dumbass.

**(3:46) But you're laughing aren't you?**

(3:48) Maybe.

(3:50) Hey, Sebastian?

**(3:52) Hmm?**

(3:52) Thank you.

**(3:54) You're welcome, Kurt. **

**(3:54) Knock knock.**

(3:54) Dweeb


	9. Goodnight

**Gay bar au**

* * *

He was going to show Kurt who was lifeless. Not that it should have meant much coming from the Ice Queen himself, but Sebastian was going to show him anyway. Going to prove him wrong. The music was loud, invasive, pounding into him like a hammer or…something else he was too intoxicated to identify at that moment. "What do you _think_ I'm doing?" Sebastian retorted, he smirked, "I'm going to _dance_."

"Sebastian, come on," Kurt protested.

He lifted himself none-too-gracefully to his feet, tossed another smirk over his shoulder and headed into the thick crowd of sweaty bodies as he called back, "I don't think so, Gayface." He hadn't called Kurt that in a long time. Months, actually, but he felt rebellious, and strong and he'd be damned if Kurt Hummel was going to stand in his way. Bodies pressed into him, a mix of hips and asses and sweat and heat. Sebastian _loved_ it. Loved how powerful it made him feel to have men rock against him to music, no words or promises, just rhythm and arousal—and if he was lucky, a quickie against a bathroom stall. The man rolling back into Sebastian spun around to hook his arms around his neck and grind their pelvises together. Sebastian groaned, more enthusiastic than he felt, but this was for show. He was showing Kurt how wrong he was with his accusation. The same Kurt who was sitting at the bar stool not even drinking and _Sebastian_ was the lifeless one. He scoffed mentally at the thought. Hummel.

A new song picked up, the bass loud and demanding in Sebastian's ears and who was he to deny it? He rocked against the two men sandwiching him between them to the beat of the song he couldn't quite name and glanced fleetingly over his shoulder. Oh yeah, Hummel was watching him. Sebastian withheld a grin, making a show of tossing his head back to rest on the shoulder of the blond grinding into his ass. Huh, he was cute—for the most part, he had a bit of a schnoz. Not that it really mattered what his face looked like because he was lean and hard against Sebastian's back and his lips suddenly latched onto the crease where his neck met jaw. It was delicious, being wanted. Powerful. The brunette pressed into his front latched onto the other side, like it was a competition, like either of them even mattered to Sebastian. But he didn't care what they thought. He knew what they were to him.

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder again, but much to his disbelief, the stool was empty. Had Kurt left him? He wouldn't have… "I think it's time to go," then, "get off of him."

Sebastian turned his head so fast he wasn't sure that he hadn't done some kind of damage to his neck. The voice was clear, sharp, and even a little menacing to his left. The men pressed against him eyed Kurt dubiously unsure of whether to take the command seriously or not, Sebastian was sure. After a moment though he gave in and extracted himself from their holds. "Thanks for the dance boys, the old lady beckons." The blond with the schnoz snickered, informing him that Sebastian knew where to find him if he ridded himself of 'the shrew.' Kurt halted Sebastian's answering laughter with a hair curling glare. "What's your problem?" he demanded once they'd made it out of the bulk of the crowd.

"You're so drunk you can barely stand, and I was going to have it on my conscience when those to imbeciles took advantage of you."

"I'm perfectly sober and no one was going to 'take advantage' of me. Do you _know _who I am, Princess?"

"Don't call me "Princess" asshole."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, following Kurt's lithe form through the club door. "I'm sorry did you prefer 'Gayface?'" he retorted, climbing into the offered passenger seat.

"You know what? I should have just let them have you. It would have served you right to realize how completely hideous your hookups were when you sobered up some. And you were always on _me_ about _my _face," Kurt scoffed, casting a judgmental look his way.

"Whatever, mom. Does this mean we're staying at my house? Because you and I both know it's too late for you to sneak back into yours." There was sarcasm in his voice, a teasing lilt to the slur of his question, an implied jab at Kurt's 'do no wrong' reputation, but somewhere in the muddled, fogginess, of his intoxicated mind, Sebastian knew that on some level he just really didn't want to be alone that night. He wasn't ready for Kurt to leave him.

Later when they finally made it upstairs to his room, both shedding clothes and climbing into the comfort of Sebastian's bed, Sebastian waited until Kurt's breath evened out into a slow pattern of inhales and exhales and tossed his arm over Kurt's waist, molding his front to the soft skin of Kurt's back. "Goodnight," he whispered, the phrase falling on deaf ears.


	10. Another Day at the Office

**Kurt just wants a quickie, is that really so much to ask? NC-17**

* * *

His palms itch with it, flexing and curling, nails scratching against his skin as he does and he hisses. This is getting ridiculous, completely and utterly ridiculous and he has no way of easing the tension because his fucking hands just aren't cutting it anymore. He needs contact, and warmth, and unfamiliar scents, and skin, and foreign hands all over him, roaming him, claiming him. Needs to see and touch and taste and _feel_. And he needs it right goddamnit now.

Kurt's leg bounces beneath his desk, grazing the metal every once in a while. He wants to scream. He has thirty minutes before he can leave the office, but thirty minutes sounds more like an eternity, he's all but given up on even trying to concentrate on his work by this point and the seconds tick by at a snail's pace.

To make matters worse, it's not like Kurt can just go home and call up some guy and have him come over and fuck him into the mattress until he can't see straight, no, because Kurt is a 'good boy.' He worries about things like STD's and intimacy between loving partners. Which is, surprise, not something many men in New York have very high on their list of priorities, so he's boyfriend-less. Boyfriend-less and horny. His only chance at getting some right now is scoping a bar or prostituting himself out on the side of road. For free. That thought actually has its merits, but he casts it off as an incase-of-emergency-only option. Which leaves him with bars again. Fucking hell.

Kurt's dick is literally about to fall off from frustration and disuse, and is it _really_ so much to ask for a quickie in a bathroom somewhere? Apparently.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the clock on the wall strikes six thirty and Kurt is out of his chair with his messenger bag like a light. His jeans cling to him uncomfortably, snug around his hopefully-not-too-noticeable bulge, as he all but sprints to the elevator and jams his finger at the downward arrow. It pings and he feels the tension in his shoulders ease up just the slightest bit. He's so close to freedom he can almost taste it now.

Fuck.

There's someone else in the elevator, which in itself isn't so terrible. The terrible part is in the fact that the guy is fucking gorgeous, all long, lean muscles and midday stubble. His eyes are a fierce green, sharp and calculating. Kurt imagines what they'd look like hazy with lust and ecstasy. What those lips would look like darkened with abuse, wrapped around him, the sounds he would make. And fuck everything, that is definitely not helping the snugness.

The man's mouth turns up at the corners into a smirk, like maybe he can hear the thoughts running through Kurt's mind. He desperately hopes not, gulping as he maneuvers himself into the elevator a good distance from the six foot of man candy in the corner.

"Hard day?" God, his voice is delicious too, smooth and self-assured. And the way he says those words is doing things to Kurt's brain that shouldn't even be possible, but so, _so_ is.

"U-uh, yeah," Kurt stutters, "Yeah, long." Then, because he feels like an absolute dork and can't think of anything else to fill the silence with, he shoots out a hand in offering and says, "Kurt Hummel."

A palm fits against his, warm and firm, fingers encasing his hand and stroking teasingly against his wrist. Kurt's brain stutters. "Sebastian Smythe." The smile creeps back across his face, arrogant and suggestive, which would be insanely irritating any other time but only succeeds in being a turn on right now.

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Those eyes drift down Kurt's body slowly as if they're _savoring_ him, as if he's a Fillet Mignon dangling in front of a starving man. His blood pulses loudly in his ears, drowning out any prior thought there may have ever been suggesting that maybe this guy was straight or maybe it wasn't so smart to pick up guys in elevators where he worked and could possibly run into said guys again after and make things incredibly awkward.

"What department are you in?" he asks, proud that he's still able to string together a comprehensive question.

"Marketing." Sebastian throws it out like an afterthought as he slinks forward, covering the few feet of space Kurt has meticulously placed between them. He definitely does not let out a little squeak when a finger curls into his belt loop and tugs him closer.

"What are you…?" A wolfish grin sprouts across the man's face, baring perfect white teeth that makes Kurt feel so much like sheep being a preyed upon. His cock twitches against the hard line of his zipper and god, there's absolutely no way he's about to fuck a stranger in an elevator in broad daylight. No way. Not one. A nail scratches faintly across the skin just above his waistband and he nearly forgets every single argument he has backing up that decision.

"Tell me, Kurt Hummel," Sebastian's stubble scratches against Kurt's smooth cheek as he leans in to rasp the words into Kurt's ear. "Is there anywhere important you need to be in the next few hours?"

"N-nope. I'm free," his voice comes out high and pitchy which serves as a source of amusement for his new acquaintance who chuckles into his neck.

"Good, because we're going to the restroom to take care of _this_," a strangled groan cuts through Kurt's throat as a palm grinds down into his denim covered erection and his head falls forward to rest on Sebastian's shoulder. "And then we're going to my apartment and I'm not letting you out of my bed until you fuck me so hard my legs go numb. That work for you?" It's an unfair question really, because Sebastian's hand is on Kurt's dick the entire time, pressing and teasing, making any form of thought completely impossible. But he nods into Sebastian's blazer, thrusting up into the pressure before it's gone, along with the body against him and the elevator doors open.

He knows what he must look like, dazed and flushed, hard beyond belief as he tags along after Sebastian in the direction of the restroom, but he can't force himself to care. Not even a little which is only reinforced when Sebastian checks the stalls, finds them vacant, and crosses the room again to flip the lock and press Kurt back against the door.

Sebastian's pupils are blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green as they bore into his, just the way Kurt had imagined they'd look, before they drop to Kurt's mouth. It's all the warning he gets before Sebastian's kissing him, impatient and purposeful, licking into his mouth like maybe it's the eighth wonder of the world or something. His hips buck up, searching for the friction they've so desperately needed for weeks now. They don't find it. Sebastian laughs breathily against Kurt's lips, pulling away with another swipe of his tongue over Kurt bottom lip. Right as Kurt begins to protest, Sebastian sinks to his knees before him, an eyebrow raised as he pops the bottom on Kurt's jeans. He hisses at the release of pressure, sighing in relief as his zipper is pulled down, freeing him from the denim prison. "God, Sebastian, _please,_" Kurt begs.

"Don't worry, I'll get you there," he murmurs back, sucking wet kisses into the jutting points of Kurt's hipbones, mouthing down the skin as he pulls Kurt's pants and briefs lower, until his cock springs free of its confines, hard and leaking against his belly. "_Fuck_, you're hot." There is marvel in Sebastian's voice, awe, but Kurt is really just too wound up at this point. He needs to come, needs it like he needs air, maybe more and Sebastian's mouth is just inches away doing pointless things like speaking, when it could be wrapped him, bringing him to his much needed release.

"I need you to touch me or I'm going to fucking die," he grits out. To his great relief, Sebastian doesn't need any more convincing before his tongue swipes a wide stripe up his length and across his slit, dipping in to scoop up the liquid gathering there, and then those glorious lips sink down him, encasing his cock in wet heat. He whines, trying thrust up into the Sebastian's mouth, but there are hands securing him in place and he can't move, just take what Sebastian's willing to give him. It shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is, he's never been into that kind of thing. He can't dwell on that very much longer though, because the next second Sebastian hollows out his cheeks, sucking Kurt down like a fucking hoover vacuum. He's moaning and gasping out little broken words that must sound a whole lot like gibberish to human ears, but he can't make himself stop. This is everything he's been needing and so much more.

Kurt's fingers clench in the Sebastian's short hair, needing something to ground him, keep him from floating off into another realm. Apparently it's the right thing to do. A deep moan vibrates up his cock, and the hand on his hip tightens painfully so that Kurt's sure it'll bruise, but doesn't care. A cry builds in his throat as Sebastian takes him the rest of the way down, his tongue moving in tantalizing shapes against him, but he remembers where he is at the last minute and stifles it by biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. His cockhead bumps the back of Sebastian throat as he bobs and he doesn't want to come yet, wants to feel this forever but there's the familiar tightening in his belly now, the pressure building in a way he knows he won't be able to resist for long. "_Sebastian_, fuck, _yeah_, _fuck,_ going to come," he pants, his head thumping loudly against the wooden door. It should hurt, but he's beyond pain at this point. Then the restraining grip on him is gone and green eyes are looking up at him and it's all the encouragement Kurt needs to anchor his other hand in Sebastian's hair and fuck into his mouth with reckless abandon.

Out of the corner of Kurt's eye, he sees a flash of movement, hands, and tendril of white-hot lust coils low in his belly. Sebastian fists himself with quick, erratic strokes, groaning around Kurt's cock, and just takes it, letting Kurt use him as hard as he wants and fuck its hot. Suddenly, Sebastian seizes up, and a few more strokes he comes in streaks over his hand with a muffled wail.

It's too much, far too much. He shoves into Sebastian's mouth to the hilt, holding him there and coming down his throat with a silent cry and blurred vision. His knees give out then, his body sliding down the door to join Sebastian in a heap of gasps and sweat.

When he's able to speak again he smiles sheepishly, and apologizes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh—" He makes a vague gesture with his hands that could really mean anything, but Sebastian just grins rakishly and shakes his head.

"I liked it." He takes another breath and leans back on his hands. "So, my apartment?"

"Sure, as soon as I can stand up."

"Deal."

* * *

**Thank you all my beautiful babies who have reviewed and followed these dumb drabbles! :) I apologize for grammar and whatnot. These aren't beta'd.**


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